Good Morning
by Yggdrasil'sRoots
Summary: How Stiles and Derek made a tradition, they don't know. But they sure as hell aren't stopping now. They're in this for the long haul.


_**This is very much dedicated to my awesome new bestie internet soulamte chica, Caitlyn aka smileyfacebabe. Go check her out, she's fabtacular.**_

_**This is for you, boo.**_

_**Gx**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my love for my boo**_

Stiles didn't really know where it started. One day Derek just popped up out of nowhere, and clambered through his window, scowling like someone had kicked his puppy. Except Stiles didn't know anyone mean enough to kick Isaac, so that option was out.

Also, Isaac bites.

So he just greeted him, and tugged a pair of sweatpants on over his boxers that he had used as pyjamas ever since the werewolves had started window hopping, then padded downstairs, bare chested, to make bacon and eggs.

He dug in the back of the fridge for the bacon he had hidden from his father, and pulled the carton of eggs out. Derek had silently plopped himself at the kitchen table, and was glaring at the table like it was his arch nemesis, while Stiles pulled out pans, and utensils, and got to work, cracking, and stirring, and frying. He glanced over his shoulder at Derek and fought back a smile, as the older man's nostrils twitched at the smell of the food.

When Stiles set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him, Derek just raised an eyebrow. Stiles just shrugged and tucked into his own breakfast, because who wants to face Harris on an empty stomach, for crying out loud?

Derek, almost hesitantly, began eating, and then made a little surprised noise.

Stiles think he melted a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

Shut it.

Gradually this became routine.

Derek would hop through his window, at about seven, after his dad had left, and they would go downstairs, where Stiles would proceed to make some sort of breakfast whilst Derek sat and brooded, and then they would eat, and go their separate ways.

Somewhere along the way, Derek started smiling at him.

Just small ones, when Stiles gave him breakfast, or rolled out of bed to open the window to let him in, or when Stiles daringly ruffled his hair one morning.

It's seriously distracting. Because Derek looks nice when he smiles.

He also looks nice when he's glaring, but something about the way he smiles just knocks the breath out of Stiles.

So he goes out of his way to make him smile.

At some point, Stiles admitted to himself that he like Derek, and his stupid, grumpy, attractive face.

A lot.

But he didn't say anything. He carried on making Derek smile, and coaxing more and more words of him, and then conversations, and eventually, he found out Derek talked almost as much as he himself does.

Who would have figured broody sourwolf for a chatterbox?

And then one morning, Stiles makes Derek his favourite breakfast, waffles, with blueberries, whipped cream, and sugar sprinkled over.

"Happy birthday Der." He tells him, and digs into his own waffles, piled high with cream and strawberries.

Derek sits there, stunned.

"How did you know it's my birthday?"

Stiles freezes guiltily.

"There might have been a case file. That I stole." He shovels food into his mouth to avoid saying any more.

Derek just gives him a huge grin, and practically inhales the waffles.

"Mom used to make me those on my birthday. It's nice to know that the tradition is being kept a bit." He said when they were piling the plates in the sink.

Stiles glanced at him from under his lashes, and Derek looked so simply happy, that Stiles couldn't resist it.

No resistance left. It had taken a quite frankly herculean effort not to do this earlier.

He dropped the plate in the sink, grabbed Derek by the lapels, and kissed the stuffing out of him.

When they paused to catch their breath, Derek blinked, looking a little shell shocked.

"Say something, Der."

"You kissed me."

Really? So much for the chatterbox.

"Say something else." Stiles released the death grip he had on Derek's shirt.

"You should kiss me again." Derek quirked an eyebrow.

No guessing what happened then.

Stiles was so gone.

And when Harris called to yell about him missing school that day, Stiles didn't care.

And neither did Derek, nose tucked into the crook of Stiles' neck, both naked and blissed out and _together_.

It was a good morning.


End file.
